


Entre Nous

by kosame



Series: Pas de Deux [4]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 19th Century, 20th Century, 21st Century, Divorce, Drama, F/M, Genderswap, Historical, Marriage, Reconciliation, Reunions, Separations, War, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 05:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/606190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kosame/pseuds/kosame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three meetings that might have been.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The streets were crowded with horses and people in the late morning damp of Christiana. Last night's rainstorm still lingered on the cobblestones even after being tread on by so many feet and hung heavily in the air. Norway didn't think much of it as he headed home from his morning errands for lunch, walking quickly and lost in his thoughts, but he discovered the slipperiness of the streets when he bumped into a young woman who promptly lost her balance and fell to the ground. 

Alarmed, he quickly grabbed her elbow to pull her to feet and started to mumble an apology until he caught a glimpse of her face. Face blank, he waited as she finished brushing off her skirt, unwilling to think or feel anything until he got a proper look at her. The white apron of her folk dress was smeared with mud, but it seemed the dress itself had been mostly spared. The embroidery was understated but of fine quality, something a woman of moderate means might wear on Sundays. Her head was covered a bonnet, but there was no ring either on her finger or a chain around her neck.

"My apologies, Sir," she said, and the tenor of her voice was like music even as she flattened his melodic language. "I'm just so clumsy, my father scolds me often, but I always seem to be _late_..." There was pleading on her face as she finally looked at him, and Norway felt even more jarred than when they'd crashed into each other. It was Denmark, he knew it as surely as his own name, but nothing she'd said so far made any sense, and, more importantly, the magnitude of the risk she was taking by simply being in his country was staggering.

"It is I who should apologize to you," he said, drawing on his great reserves of serenity. "Are you unhurt?"

"I think--" she began brightly, then went to take a step and had her leg buckle underneath her. It was lucky Norway was still holding her arm, or else she would have taken another tumble in the mud. "It seems my ankle is twisted, Sir."

"Then it must been seen by a doctor," Norway said, presuming to heft her packages by the twine that tied them together. "Come, I will call one for you."

"Oh, no, Sir, I _couldn't_ ," she protested, even as he began to lead her down the street towards his home. "My father and brother will be waiting for me on the ferry."

"There will be other ferries," he replied, not caring that he sounded curt. The sooner they could talk safe from prying ears, the better.

"But _Sir_ ," she protested again, but he ignored her. His residence wasn't far, and she seemed to be limping along just fine.

"Mrs. Henriksen!" he bellowed for his housekeeper the instant they were through the door. He quickly stripped off his gloves and coat before turning to Denmark and helping her do the same. He was just helping her down the hall to the sitting room when Mrs. Henriksen hurried in, red cheeks showing how flustered she was.

"What--?"

"Fetch a doctor," Norway ordered.

"No, Sir, really," Denmark cut in. "I can wrap it myself, it's just a little twist."

It occurred to Norway that the injury itself might be a total fabrication and that calling a doctor might create more trouble than it was worth. "Bandages, then," he capitulated.

"Oh dear, oh dear," Mrs. Henriksen fussed, taking Denmark's other arm to help her. "Come inside, Miss, we'll sort you right out."

'Miss.' Right. "Fetch something warm to drink as well," Norway said after Mrs. Henriksen's retreating form as he helped Denmark into a chair. Sitting on the table, he lifted her affected foot and began unlacing her shoe. "Are you actually hurt?" he whispered.

Denmark shook her head once, sharply, and the tiny bit of doubt that he might have been mistaken finally evaporated. Gone was the wide-eyed distress of the street, replaced with a desperate determination in the set of her jaw.

"You're insane," he hissed, even as his fingers rubbed the bones of her ankle.

"Sir, I must ask you to unhand my foot," Denmark said instead of replying, and Norway sprung back as if he'd been burned. Not a moment too soon, because just then Mrs. Henriksen swept back in with the bandages.

"I'll-- look after the coffee," Norway said, not listening to Mrs. Henriksen's sputtering protests. Everything had been happening so quickly, and he needed a moment to get his head on straight. Shock and anger and longing were all fighting for dominance in his chest, and none of those were what he needed at the moment. The bubbling of the water was soothing, and he took a deep breath before finishing preparing the service Mrs. Henriksen had started to lay out.

He returned to hear voices drifting down the hall. He stopped just outside the door, listening. "You must at least stay for lunch, Miss."

"Oh, no, Ma'am, I couldn't. I wouldn't want to disturb the family."

"I'm afraid there's no family to disturb. He's a widower, without even any children to remember his wife by. It's a right shame, that such a nice man should be alone so young."

"He could remarry."

"From your lips to God's ears, Miss," Mrs. Henriksen said, and Norway imagined she was shaking her head. "I know he was devoted to her, but even the most jealous woman would have to forgive him some companionship after these many years."

"I can't imagine a woman who would inspire that kind of devotion would be cruel enough to wish him a life of solitude."

There was something in Denmark's voice Norway didn't like, but then Mrs. Henriksen said conspiratorially, "He don't think no one notices, but I know he has a letter hidden in his desk drawer that he'll read over and over again for hours. I reckon it's got to be from her."

Norway decided that was enough and cleared his throat as he entered the room. Mrs. Henriksen was an excellent housekeeper, and quite loyal too, but he knew her loose lips were the reason she'd been hired to help him: no need to bribe or blackmail her; she didn't even know she was helping spy on him. "Please prepare an extra plate for our guest, and room for her, Mrs. Henriksen."

"But—"

"You've missed your ferry, haven't you?"

"No doubt," Denmark said quietly.

"Then you shall have to stay here until we can arrange you passage on the next one. It's the least I can do after knocking you over in the square."

She looked defiant for a moment, then muttered, "I'm grateful for your hospitality, Sir."

Looking over at Mrs. Henriksen, she took her signal to do as he instructed. "I'll send Eric to the docks to look after the ferry," she added as she left.

They sat in silence for a few moments as Norway prepared the coffee, then he said, "She's a fine housekeeper."

"She certainly seems kind."

"But she is a bit lacking in discretion." He paused a moment to make sure she took his meaning before he continued, "I'm sorry she bored you with nonsense about my personal affairs."

"I was sorry to hear about your wife," she said lightly, and Norway gave her a hard stare.

"I would make a deal with the Devil Himself to have her back," he said, voice like ice, and she looked startled at his intensity. How _dare_ she? How _dare_ she question his loyalty to her? The familiar anger was burning again in his chest. 

"I apologize, I've clearly been indelicate, bringing something like that up."

She looked haughty and cold in that moment, and Norway's chest ached when he realized they had far too little time together to waste it being angry at each other. He did have his grievances, but no doubt little Eric would come back and tell his mother the good news that there had been a space on tomorrow's passage, and he would lose her again no sooner than he had gotten her back, not least because there was _no way_ he would see her risk her neck like this again.

His eyes fell on the pale nape of her neck even as he had that innocent thought, and he was right back to being pulled in all directions again.

"Everything is all prepared, Sir," Mrs. Henriksen said, mercifully interrupting him from his trance. "I can... stay on tonight, if you like?" That's right, it was her afternoon off.

"Nonsense," he said, setting down his coffee cup and standing. "I won't let my clumsiness interrupt your time with your son." He reached into his pocket and pulled out two penny sweets, giving them to her without a word.

"Ah, you sweet, sweet man," Mrs. Henriksen laughed even as he turned red with embarrassment. "I do live right next door, if you need anything," she said, then turned and bid them good afternoon.

Norway risked a glance at Denmark, and her soft smile was something he hadn't seen in so long, he felt like he might burst. He listened for the front door to shut, then crossed the room quickly and knelt next to Denmark's seat instead of returning to his own. Slowly, afraid she might pull away or reveal herself to be a trick, he reached a hand up to cradle her cheek. She closed her eyes and turned into the touch for a moment, then set her cup on the table and sunk to the floor next to him. They just looked at each other, Denmark bringing a hand up to fuss with his hair, but after a moment her fingertips came to rest in the curve of his shoulder, and he crushed her to himself. Nuzzling the curve of her neck that he'd just been admiring, he asked, sounding breathless, "What are you doing here?"

"I got your letter," she answered, sounding in as much disbelief as he was that this was reality, and Norway would have let her go if he could have, he was so shocked.

"I thought all my letters were stopped. I've tried everything I could think of and never gotten a response." In the beginning, Sweden had tried to coax him into cooperation by promising to deliver his letters, but he had refused then, and he wasn't about to go crawling back for leniency now, even if it meant he'd been cut off entirely from anyone not one of his own people.

She shook her head, fingers soothing on the back of his neck. "Whatever you did last time worked."

"You should have just sent a reply."

"I couldn't, not after reading—"

"It's too dangerous!"

"It's too late. I'm here now."

So she was. Norway pressed a kiss into her shoulder. "You won't do it again." His tone brooked no argument.

She didn't answer, but she didn't need to. They both knew this was all they would have for the foreseeable future. "I love you," she said in his ear. "Forgive me."

It was Norway's turn not to answer.

***

They were tangled up in each other, just soaking each other in, when the morning found them. The clock in the hall struck the hour, and Norway knew it wouldn't be long before Mrs. Henriksen would be over to start breakfast. Reluctantly, he raised a hand to smooth back her hair, and he kissed her forehead.

"It was the nightingale, not the lark," Denmark said, bringing a hand up to cover Norway's.

"It was the clock," Norway said, slightly confused.

"I know, I know," Denmark muttered fondly. "I must be gone and live, or stay and die." She burrowed further into his embrace even as she said it, though. "Let me be taken. Let me be put to death. I am content."

Norway grit his teeth. "Perhaps _I'm_ not."

"Oh." Denmark tried to push herself away, but Norway clung tighter.

"I won't list my grievances to a coffin. Don't come back here, and stop feuding with Prussia."

"I thought you _didn't_ want me to end up in a coffin."

"Dan, _please_." He only got the scraps of the news his handlers saw fit to filter through to him, but he was scared for her. That must have been why she'd come: to prove to him she was still alive, still fighting.

"Don't you worry about me," she said finally. "You'll get your chance to yell and scream at me yet."

Acutely aware of how quickly the time was slipping away from them, he hesitated to say what had worried him most all this time, but without the prospect of seeing her again for who knew how long, he whispered. "When you sent me here, when I read that letter, I thought you didn't want to be married to me anymore."

"No, no, of course not."

"I'm glad I was wrong."

She kissed the apples of his cheeks, the tip of his nose, fingers catching on his stubble as she ran them down his jaw. 

The chime rang the quarter of the hour. "You have to go."

Even as she began crawling backwards out his bed, she kissed him deeply. He followed her as best he could, until they finally, really, had to part. She gave him a watery smile as she slipped out the door and shut it behind her.

Curling completely under the covers, Norway cursed and clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms.


	2. Chapter 2

"Congratulations," Denmark said as Norway approached, climbing the hill to meet her under the shade of the tree. She was leaning back against the trunk, apparently unconcerned with the possibility of her fine suit getting dirty. 

He felt almost under-dressed, but then, "You're a week late."

She gave him a small smile as he finally came to a stop in front of her. "I didn't want to spoil your party."

Actually, he had wanted her there, to celebrate his independence, and he had been hurt when she hadn't even sent a letter of congratulations. He had concluded that she wasn't actually happy for him, and it had left a sour taste in his mouth. "Is that so."

"It's a new chapter in your life," she said. From behind her back, she produced a crown of clover flowers and reached up to lay it on his head. "I think you got taller." Her smile looked almost maternal, more like a big sister proud of her brother than a wife overjoyed for her husband.

"Don't you have anything substantial to say?" he said crossly.

"I thought I was," Denmark said, mouth twisting in annoyance. She stepped around him and began to walk away.

"Where are you going?" he demanded.

"I'm letting you get on with your life!" she called back.

Sparing a moment to roll his eyes, he set off jogging after her. She must have heard his footsteps, though, because without even looking back, she picked up the pace herself. Soon, they were both running, and Norway was beginning to feel dangerously out of control on the steep slope of the hillside. "Danmark!" he called peevishly. "Why are you running!?"

"Because you are!" she replied, running a little faster yet.

"Dan!" he choked out, now in somewhat of a controlled skid. "Stop! You're going to--!" His lead foot caught on something, and he pitched forward, feet flailing forward in hard steps in a frantic attempt to keep them under him.

"Nor!" Denmark exclaimed, apparently having seen his desperate discombobulation. She rushed back and caught him by the shoulders, but that just landed both of them on the ground. Denmark appeared to have had the wind knocked out of her, and Norway took his opportunity as he helped her up into a sitting position.

"I wanted you at the celebrations, you idiot."

"But—" Denmark wheezed.

"Why _else_ would I have invited you?" She was still the densest person he'd ever met, and it was hard not to let his annoyance seep into his voice.

"Wanted to give you your space."

"I've had 90 years worth." The hand he'd offered her up was still in hers, and it tightened involuntarily when he thought of how long they'd been kept apart.

She sunk into silence, and he became even further perplexed. He tried to move his free hand to her cheek, but she shied away from the touch.

"If _you_ don't want to see _me_ , then you shouldn't have come."

"That's not it at all!" she shot back.

"Then what _is it_?" he demanded, and no sooner had he said it than he realized what was going on. "Oh. Well, just so we're clear," he said, anger straining his voice, "here I am ' _unshackled_ ' and ' _unbound_ ' and I still _choose_ you. Just like I _chose_ you the first time."

"Norge," she whispered, eyes shining with moisture as they searched his face.

"Come here, you stupid, fool girl," he said, but the gruffness had left his voice. His arms seemed to ache now that they were finally around her again. "I missed you," he said softly.

The words let loose her tears, and if he was slightly misty himself, that was no one's business but his own. He was his own Nation now, again.

Getting to their feet, they leaned heavily on each other the rest of the way down the hill. Denmark gave a watery chuckle as they walked off together. "Definitely taller."


	3. Chapter 3

Norway closed the door quickly behind him against the bitter wind of winter and held his hands out to warm near the tiny stove. It was a tiny office in an ancient building, but they were grateful for what they could get. It was only a few moments before a fellow appeared from the (even smaller) back room, where Norway knew the two men manning the office in this border town slept.

"Happy New Year! If there's anything to be happy about," he said with sardonic humor. He had two mugs and offered one to Norway, picking up the kettle from atop the stove and pouring them both a cup of whatever had been warming inside it. "Suppose you're happy to be in peaceful Sweden."

"We're here to pick up supplies and intelligence," Norway said, sipping at his stale beverage. It was warm, and that's all that mattered.

"And get out of the forest for a few days, eh?" Norway didn't mind the outdoors, but he knew the others in his cell did. "Well, don't worry, we got everything a Norwegian might need, so long as it's not rationed. So, nothing actually. Name's Carl, by the way."

Norway shook Carl's outstretched hand but didn't offer the same courtesy; it was far safer for both them and the Swedes helping them the fewer names they knew. "Alone today?"

"Nah, just letting Olle get in a nap after keeping the night watch. You and your boys got a place to bed down for the night?"

Norway nodded. "We're only here until tomorrow, anyway."

"Well, then, best get you your supplies. I'm afraid I don't have anything for you intelligence-wise, but if you come back this evening, the Little Birdie's sure to have brought something."

"Little birdie'?"

"Yeah, sure," Carl said, reclining behind the desk, rickety chair wobbling beneath him. "Little Birdie tells me all the best news she hears from other little birdies."

"You mean a person, not a bird," Norway asked flatly.

"Ha! It'd be hard on the wings to fly all the way across the Kattegat. Nah, she's got herself a boat, smaller than you'd expect from looking at it, if you catch my drift."

"What's a Danish smuggler doing all the way up here?" Norway asked, perplexed. Even if she wasn't caught with contraband, it was dangerous to be on the water any more than necessary.

Carl shrugged. "She says it's nostalgic. Hell if I know what that means. You gotta be a little touched in the head to be a woman alone smuggling in wartime anyways, don'tcha?"

"What Dane isn't?" Norway mumbled rhetorically, and Carl laughed.

"Ain't that the truth. You know, you're all right." He kicked a chair out with his foot, and Norway shrugged before taking the offered seat, leaning his rifle and pack against the legs. He had nowhere better to be; his buddies were making the most of their one day of rest, and Norway hadn't been a fun drunk since the war started. "You can ask her yourself, if you like. Should be coming in today, knock on wood." Norway frowned, beginning to think he should excuse himself, when Carl added, "She takes messages back too, you know." Shrugging to indicate the backroom, he said, "Olle's got a sister, married a man from Copenhagen. How you can squabble like children through a messenger, I'll never understand."

"She goes all the way down to Zealand?"

"That's where she sails out of. Where else is she supposed to get all the good gossip?"

In spite of himself, Norway decided to wait. He wouldn't have admitted it aloud, but he really was desperate for news in general, and from Copenhagen in particular.

"Here, wake Olle up for me, wouldya? It's nearly lunchtime. You're welcome to eat with us, if you like."

Norway nodded and stood, but no sooner had he and Olle gotten a start on the sandwiches did he hear the front door scrape open. There was a heavy thud, like someone had dropped a box on the floor, and then he heard a voice he hadn't in decades. "Well met, young Carl!"

Carl laughed. "Hello to you too, Birdie. Hope you got something good for me, there's a resistance man here you'll be letting down elsewise."

"Oh, is this my belated Christmas present?"

"You're touched," Carl said, sounding like he was shaking his head. "This resistance fighter fetish you have is just unhealthy."

"Never you mind." Denmark's laugh filled the room, bright as if it wasn't a cold and bleak January day, and it was all Norway could do not to rush out of the kitchen. Olle pulled down an extra plate, and, while he worked, Norway offered to carry out two that were done. He got a glimpse of Denmark chatting happily, cheeks red from the cold, and the sight warmed him better than Carl's concoction had. She glanced over at him and stopped mid-sentence, eyes widening. "Nor." Norway had no idea what to say or how to react, but it turned out he didn't need to, because she was across the room and squeezing the stuffing out of him a second later. "You're all right. You're all right."

"The sandwiches," he said stupidly, wishing they were out of his hands so he could embrace her back but too mindful of the waste to drop them.

"Oh, of course," she said, looking faintly embarrassed. Norway mentally kicked himself for his idiocy. She took both plates from him and turned to place them on the desk, and he wasted no time grabbing her from behind, squeezing her tightly enough to make sure she understood he hadn't been trying to turn her away.

"What's this then?" Carl asked a little solicitously.

Having set down the plates, Denmark leaned back against Norway, shadowing his arms with her own. "You _did_ get me something. And here all I brought you was canned ham."

"That'll be more than enough," Olle said, finally entering the room. He seemed to be more reserved and level-headed than Carl, not that it was difficult in comparison.

"Happy New Year, Olle," Denmark greeted him warmly, Norway reluctantly letting her go as she turned. "Your sister sends her regards, or at least I assume so, repeating the words would ruin the spirit of the season."

"To hell with her too!" Olle said in good cheer. "You know our guest?"

"Should hope so, he's only my husband." Her hand discreetly found his, threading their fingers together.

The present tense didn't escape Norway's notice as Carl looked theatrically heartbroken. "Married! And here I thought that night on the harbor meant something!"

"That was in your dreams," Denmark pointed out, gleefully cruel.

"Oh, yeah." Carl sunk into his seat and dug into his lunch, apparently recovered from the blow to his heart. He turned mock-conspiritorialy to Norway. "No wonder you think Danes are crazy if you're married to her."

Denmark elbowed him lightly, laughter ruining her scandalized expression. "Well, I suppose one has to ask, who's crazier, me or the man who married me?"

Norway squeezed her hand, content to let the chatterboxes banter as they tucked into their lunch and Denmark relayed to them all the news she had. Norway committed both the intelligence and the look on Denmark's face as she told them to memory. They sat there, rapt, long past the time that all that remained of their sandwiches was crumbs. Finally, Denmark slapped her knee and declared herself all talked out.

They sat there in silence for a moment, then Olle said, "Carl, would you help me with the clean-up?"

"What? _Oh_ , sure." Picking up his and Denmark's dish, he winked and said, "Keep it clean, kids."

Denmark rolled her eyes and shooed him off, clearly exhausted from the way she was leaning back in her chair. Given the journey plus the story she'd just relayed, it made sense. Norway leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees and rubbing both of Denmark's hands in his own, rope callouses rough under the pads of his fingers. He pulled one of them up and kissed the back of her hand, faintly tasting the salt of the ocean.

"How've ya been, Nor?" she asked, eyes tired but smile fond.

"You know how I've been."

"Sorry for being a little presumptuous before. It's no business of Carl and Olle's the state of our marriage, or lack thereof."

Norway frowned. "I think you described it just fine."

"Nor, I haven't seen you in _years_." She pulled one hand out of his and ran it along the side of his face, cupping his cheek. "Now's not the time for that, though. I'm just glad you're all right."

"Stay with me tonight." The words slipped out of him; he hadn't seen where he and his unit were staying, and it would be anything but quiet if he brought her back to meet the bunch of rowdy drunks he called comrades-in-arms.

She shook her head. "I have to leave with the tide."

"There are other tides. Two every day."

She thought for a moment. "I don't know that it's the best idea for me to intrude on your hosts for tonight," she said, and Norway's hear sank even though it was the same thought he'd just had. "Maybe you'd better come back to my humble bunk instead. Be just like old times. Still got your sea legs?"

"I'd outsail you with one hand tied behind my back," Norway said back, too gently to be an actual challenge.

"Some other time, soldier," she said with an absent smirk. "Carl, Olle!" she called, "Stop your shameless eavesdropping and come out here."

"Well, can you blame me?" Carl said, not looking the slightest bit embarrassed. "It's not often we get happy news around here, is it?"

"You just worry about the _important_ news I gave you. I'll see you in a few weeks. You too, Olle."

"Be safe," Olle said with a smile.

"You too, Birdie's Husband. Husband. _Still_ hurts to hear, I tell ya."

Norway hefted his pack and rifle, and the two of them left the office, huddling close together against the cold.

"You don't need to tell your unit where you'll be?"

Norway smirked. "They'd be too drunk to remember in the morning anyway."

"I really do have to leave on the morning tide."

Nodding, Norway crowded closer to Denmark. They were leaving in the morning, too, hangovers be damned.

"I thought you'd be angry," Denmark said, and she must have been tired, to risk ruining everything by blurting something like that.

"Who says I'm not?" Norway said. "I'm just not fool enough to bring it up now, unlike some people."

Denmark laughed a little hollowly. "Right, as always. We can ask for adjoining cells to scream it out when we eventually end up in a prison camp."

"I'm not planning on getting captured."

"It'll be lonely without you," Denmark said conversationally, craning her neck to look back at him.

"Stop," Norway said, surprising even himself with the pleading note in his voice.

"All right, but only for you. Anything for you. _Alt for Norge_!"

Anxious about the people turning to stare at Denmark's outburst, he started scold her, but was surprised and grateful when a cheer went up from several people on the street around them. 

Denmark smiled knowingly at him, and he let her have her little victory, putting an arm around her and enjoying his holiday miracle.


End file.
